Chapter XVIII: Three Members of Magical Royalty
The Impenetrable Forest looked just as Merlin remembered it: dark, thick, still. Enormous trees rose from damp, mossy loam, their leaves forming a ceiling against the sky. Only a few shafts of sunlight found their way through the still-green canopy, falling to the uneven, root-wracked ground like golden tulle.
It wouldn't stay like this for long. The equinox had passed, and soon these ancient trees would be crowned in autumnal splendor before shedding their leaves entirely.
Merlin wondered if the changing seasons affected Mab. Perhaps the forest queen was strongest during summer, when the trees were growing and resplendent. Or perhaps the Queen of Air and Darkness was at her most powerful during the long winter nights.
It didn't matter, though, the warlock reflected as he stepped into the wood, leaving Kilgharrah and Wyrmbasu behind him. It might one day, if he and Mab ever became enemies, but they were allies now. She had a vested interest in keeping him alive and healthy long enough for Listeneise to recover. After that, it would probably depend on how much she liked him.
"Queen Mab?" Merlin called. "I need to speak with you about a danger to Listeneise and your forest. Are you here?"
The mulch and moss seemed to absorb his voice. Hopefully they were just relaying his words to their mistress.
…One day, Merlin was going to figure out if Mab could actually do that. Would he be able to do that too? How similar was Mab's sovereignty to his own land-bond with Listeneise?
There was no response yet. Merlin glanced over his blue-cloaked shoulder and was not surprised to see that the wood had swallowed him up. Trees like prison bars rose behind him as far as the eye could see, even though he'd been walking for maybe a minute. If this place worked according to logic and sense, he'd still be able to see Kilgharrah and the Dark Tower's ruins.
Was Mab even in the area? Had she moved the trees (or Merlin himself) or was that just one of the Impenetrable Forest's many charming properties?
"This is important!" the warlock yelled. "I know you can hear me!" He flopped down, back against a particularly sturdy old tree. "I brought a book this time." He brandished Cornelius Sigan's grimoire.
A bird chirped somewhere.
Huffing, Merlin opened his book. He'd scarcely gotten to the correct page before a pair of long-fingered hands plucked it out of his grip.
"A pleasure to greet you, Your Majesty," Mab proclaimed, bowing with a flourish. "I welcome you to my humble abode."
Merlin very nearly protested the title before he caught himself. Mab would happily distract him with quibbling over that ridiculous claim about him being magical royalty all day long. Better to just ignore it when she did that.
"It's good to see you, Queen Mab," he exaggerated. "Like I said, there's a problem that will affect Listeneise and the Impenetrable Forest both."
She grinned at him. Her entire manner was that of an individual enjoying herself far too much. "Of course, Your Majesty." (Merlin's eye twitched. This… was going to be a long conversation.) "It's our royal duty to look after our kingdoms." She sat upon a tree root that looked a lot more thronelike than it had a moment ago. At the same time, the root beneath Merlin swelled until he found himself sitting on a wooden throne of his very own.
Merlin decided to get this conversation over with as quickly as possible.
"The Dark Tower was cursed," he announced. "The High Priestess Eluned left behind a nasty piece of spellwork that would activate once her creation was destroyed. We haven't identified what exactly it is yet, but it looks like it's aimed at destroying all of Listeneise, including your forest. Do you know anything about what she might have done? Even just a guess would help."
Mab hummed. "Unpleasant woman, Eluned."
"Definitely," Merlin agreed.
"Are you certain, oh Lord of All Magic, of whence the curse comes?"
Oh, gods, she was just going to come up with more and more horrible titles until he snapped.
Merlin was so appalled by the prospect that he almost didn't realize what else she said. Then it sank in. "What do you mean? The curse comes from the High Priestess who built the blasted Tower."
"She placed it there, yes," Mab agreed.
"So what are you trying to say?"
"I'm asking if you're certain whence the curse comes." The forest spirit's eyes were wide and guileless and fairly twinkling with amusement. She sounded like a chipper female Kilgharrah.
Okay, Merlin, think. She speaks in riddles, and you've learned to figure out what Kilgharrah says. Well, sort of. But the same logic applies here.
He pondered for a moment before slowly asking, "Do you mean the source of its power?"
"Isn't that what I said, Prince of the Sidhe?"
He was so lost in thought that he didn't even register the title (or the fact that she somehow knew about his mother's bloodline). The Dark Tower had drawn power from Listeneise and its warden, leeching strength from them both to sustain its ugly magics. Merlin had severed that link, though, cutting the Tower off from himself and the Perilous Lands.
Perhaps the construction had created a reservoir? It could have channeled some extra magic off into a sort of hollow, a place not connected directly to Listeneise and therefore much more difficult to detect. Merlin pictured an invisible pole jutting out from the Tower's sides with an invisible, magic-filled basket hanging from it. If power ran down the pole (make it more of a gutter instead, and the Tower had some kind of Roman plumbing marvel that allowed water to move up through its walls), then it would fill the basket—no, better make that a big vase or waterskin. Something waterproof. But there would have been a sort of buffer between the curse and the land, which was the important bit.
When the Dark Tower had fallen, the metaphorical vase would have fallen too. It would have shattered when it hit the ground, releasing the water everywhere. No, not water. It was water when it went into the Tower, but then it mixed with poisons on its way up the walls, so when the vase smashed, everything around it was poisoned.
…This somewhat ridiculous analogy wasn't doing much to answer the question. Assuming that Merlin was correct about the magic's source, how did that help him? How did you take poison out of water?
Well, he should at least confirm his theory (preferably without explaining the metaphor) before going further down that road. "I assume that the Dark Tower was storing up all this magic, slowly accumulating it over the centuries in some kind of… metaphorical container that broke with the building."
"A good conclusion," Mab said, neither confirming nor denying.
"Is that what happened?"
She smirked at him, her teeth white and sharp. "Does my king command me to tell?"
Merlin mulled it over. That was probably what had happened, but he couldn't be completely certain. "Yes," he grumbled.
Mab raised an eyebrow until it almost touched the base of her flyaway hair.
Oh, gods, she was going to make him say it. "Yes," Merlin ground out. "I command it."
She grinned, waited. The seconds ticked by as Merlin contemplated whether confirmation was worth it. He wanted to say that it probably wasn't, but, well, he might literally die otherwise, so he'd better just get it over with.
"I, your… king… command it."
Mab giggled, which, lovely. Nice to know that one of them was having a good time. "As my king commands," she chortled. "Yes, that is what happened."
"So how do I fix it? And yes, I'm ordering you to answer that, too." He might as well use her blasted little game to his own advantage.
"What has been gathered once can be brought together again."
Merlin sighed, but he really hadn't expected anything else. "That's what I tried to do. It didn't work."
"You used the wrong tools, Your Majesty."
"Well, what are the right tools?"
"Ask Eluned."
"I can't, she's—" Merlin paused. Now that he thought of it, there was probably some way of contacting her spirit, but then he remembered all the trouble that Sigan had caused and discarded the half-formed idea. That probably wasn't what Mab meant. She'd helped him against Sigan, and he doubted that a spirit would recommend a spot of necromancy. So her instructions to ask Eluned were another riddle.
"Her works are mostly destroyed, you know," Merlin said slowly. "Time, poor preservation, and then the fall of the Isle ruined everything but a few fragments that have more to do with mandrakes than anything else."
Mab shrugged. "I'm not surprised."
Translated from riddle-speak, that meant that she hadn't intended for him to search the old High Priestess's works for step-by-step instructions on removing this curse.
Not that she would have left anything like that behind. The curse was meant to destroy, so why would she record its cure? She probably hadn't written about anything except how mandrakes were excellent and the general outlines of her great plan. Nothing about the technicalities or how she'd actually done anything.
Wait.
How she'd done things….
"You think I should rebuild her siphon," Merlin realized. "Find a way to see what she's done from… the ruins of the Tower? Yes, from the ruins. Only you want me to modify the siphon somehow, make it so that it only picks up the cursed magic."
Mab applauded.
"That might work," the warlock mused. It would take some research (how did one go about interpreting magical traces?) from people who knew more about magic, some heavy thinking, and a dash of luck, but it was the outline of a plan.
He could work with that.
Well, no, he couldn't. He had no idea how to do any of this because his understanding of magical theory was embarrassingly incomplete. But he was surrounded by better-trained spellbinders who could help him.
He had a plan.
Merlin spent the afternoon with Kilgharrah, poking around the ruins of the Dark Tower to learn as much as they could about it. The dragon agreed that recreating the siphon was a good idea and honestly seemed a bit jealous that he hadn't thought of it himself.
The ancient magic left echoes of a sort. Despite how hard and long the dragon and warlock examined them, they had degenerated too much to be of much use. And, well, it got increasingly difficult to focus on their task as the sun carried on towards the horizon.
"We know at least a little bit more," Merlin sighed as he, Kilgharrah, and Basu sped back to the settlement.
"There is still far to go, but yes, we have. For now, we ought to focus on preventing the contaminated magic's spread."
"Agreed." But Merlin's mind was wandering, fixated on another, much more pleasant subject.
"Remember to ask your mother's kin for guidance tonight, young warlock," Kilgharrah said. "But remember as well that the Sidhe do nothing without ulterior motive."
"Alator mentioned that there's a prophecy about a royal-born Sidhe maiden who's supposed to be one of Arthur's greatest advisors. Do you think that's why they're helping with Ganieda, because they think it might be her?"
"Undoubtedly. They must also make up for Princess Elena's possession."
Merlin grimaced. "I'm just glad that turned out all right."
"Yes." Kilgharrah turned his head slightly, a great golden eye fixing on Merlin. "What will you offer the Sidhe as recompense for their aid in the affairs of Listeneise?"
In the business of the last day, Merlin had completely forgotten about actually paying the Sidhe. He'd been more focused on the curse and, as the hour grew nearer, his imminent meeting with little Ganieda.
(Oh, gods, there were barely two hours before sunset, and then he and Hunith would teleport to the Lake of Avalon and then Merlin would meet his baby sister. He couldn't wait.)
"Tell me that you did not think to simply offer an unspecified boon."
Merlin hadn't thought at all, really, but that would just make Kilgharrah more upset. He flailed about for inspiration while babbling, "Of course not! I have an absolutely fantastic idea about what to give them!" Maybe something he'd borrowed from the vaults? No, he'd promised Arthur he'd give those back (and he really ought to do that soon. He'd make a note of it). Definitely not Beothaich, and Excalibur was safely hidden in a stone (he needed to get that back to Arthur, too).
Kilgharrah was judging him, he could just tell. Basu made a cough-like chuffing noise. He was judging Merlin too.
"The grimoire!" Merlin exclaimed, remembering the contents of his knapsack. "We've got a couple extra copies of Sigan's grimoire, so I'll trade one of those. Ancient knowledge for ancient knowledge."
"Fitting," Kilgharrah returned, practically humming with amusement.
"It is. That's why I decided on it."
Their conversation lapsed after that. Merlin focused on the ground far below him, disappearing between flaps of Basu's wings. He gave his wonderful wyvern a scratch on that spot on his neck he liked so much and went back to thinking.
The fliers angled their wings downward, descending at a gentle angle, once the town was in view. Merlin gave Basu a brief but thorough petting before he hurried off to find his mother.
Hunith met him at the door. She was just as jittery with nervous energy as her son, one leg jiggling without her input. Balinor was wide-eyed and tense, lifting his gaze to Merlin only briefly before dropping it back to the cradle.
"Almost time," Merlin breathed.
"Almost time," his mother laughed. "Gods, I wonder how much she's grown?"
"She'll be small, still," Balinor pointed out. "She wouldn't have been born for weeks yet, not if everything went the way it was supposed to." His nostrils flared at the memory. "I hope that Uther and all his minions are burning in the lowest hell right now."
"They are," Hunith agreed, "but Ganieda might have come a couple weeks early. Merlin did. Gaius had just barely gotten to Ealdor when my labor started."
"That's right," Balinor realized, "your birthday is coming up soon, Merlin."
"Don't tell anyone," the warlock begged. Gods only knew what his people would do.
Balinor grinned at him but made no promises.
Hunith opened the door, glanced to the west, sighed.
"Still a few more minutes?"
"Still a few more minutes."
Those minutes dragged by even with Merlin telling them about his encounter with Mab (though he left out certain linguistic details that they didn't need to trouble themselves with). Balinor rearranged the blanket in the cradle twice, even though it didn't actually need adjustment, and Hunith checked on the sun three more times before declaring that they could go now.
Oh, gods. It was time. It was time.
Merlin almost bounced his way over to Hunith. He spoke the words to the teleportation spell so quickly that they ran together, but the magic understood. The whirlwind that whisked them away seemed faster than usual.
The Lake of Avalon was as beautiful as always. Sunset painted it in shades of orange and vermillion, gold and blush. A pair of leaves lay in the water like reverse stars.
Merlin barely noticed the breathtaking scenery. He and Hunith strode towards the shore, their shoes nearly touching the water. They squinted, seeking a glimpse of the island that wasn't an island and wasn't always there.
Between one blink and the next, the peaceful waters began to shiver. They rippled in perfect circles, lapping at the land in quick little oscillations.
A cloud of Sidhe rose out of the waters, their gossamer wings droning softly in the darkening evening. Some flew off immediately, ignoring the petitioners at the shore, while others circled something flat and dark upon the surface of the waters.
The boat drifted towards them. Merlin forgot restraint, forgot propriety. He waded into the Lake, his mother close behind him. They stood waist-deep in the waves as the dinghy continued its journey.
A woman sat in the boat, ageless and proud-backed, a diadem glittering atop her dark curls, a richly swaddled bundle in her arms. Hunith curtsied. Merlin bowed.
"Granddaughter," said the Queen of the Sidhe, smiling at her descendants. "Great-grandson." She reached out her arms, offering them that precious treasure.
Hunith took her daughter with a stifled sob. "Thank you, Grandmother," she choked out. "I cannot thank you enough." She clutched the baby tight against her chest.
Merlin sidled closer, drinking in the sight of his little sister. She was sleeping, but he suspected that her eyes were newborn blue. Her hair was dark—no surprise there—and a little bit curly, half-covering delicate pink ears that don't stick out like his. She was tiny, so very tiny, and amazingly perfect.
"You are very welcome, Hunith… but before you and Merlin Emrys bring her to your dragonlord, there is one thing you must know."
The humans froze.
"Ganieda is a daughter of Avalon, a child of my own bloodline. I should like to see her grow." It wasn't a suggestion. Her eyes were too hard for that.
Merlin held himself in check. His mother was the one who knew this woman-shaped being. She might know what the queen meant.
"What do you mean, Grandmother?" Hunith asked.
Well, there went that theory.
"I would have Ganieda return to Avalon for seven days each year, to learn her heritage and make certain that her health does not flag."
Merlin went rigid, his eyes flaring in the fading light. Was that a threat?
"Ganieda was born in Avalon. She has dwelt here for a moon's turn, drinking fairy-milk every day. My world is a part of her now in a way that it has never been part of either of you, and she must return to it occasionally lest she… fade."
Merlin wished he knew more about Avalon and the Sidhe. That sounded plausible, but he didn't know.
Hunith stared at her grandmother for several long moments. The queen stared back, unblinking, unmoved. Finally, Hunith relaxed. "My dragonlord, my son, and I know that she will be safe with our kin. One week each year, Grandmother." And not an hour more, she doesn't say. Instead, she turns to Merlin. "If you could send me back to your father now…."
"Of course."
"You need something," his great-grandmother observed as Hunith and Ganieda disappeared into a whirlwind.
"I'd like to propose a trade," Merlin explained, "knowledge for knowledge. I'm willing to offer a copy of Cornelius Sigan's grimoire in return for your help with my problem."
The queen's eyes glinted. "What problem?"
Merlin told her about the Dark Tower and the curse, about Mab's suggestion that he re-engineer part of Eluned's magic. By the time he was finished, the sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving only a few fingers of orange and pink reaching up from the west. The sky was navy and purple and black, full of stars that gleamed like the jewels on the queen's crown.
"Let me see the wound," she ordered, and he obediently lifted his green tunic. His skin had reddened again and puffed up around his drainage point.
The queen tutted softly. "A vile thing indeed," she muttered, laying her hand over the infected flesh. Something like lightning jolted through Merlin, tensing his every muscle. Pain seared through his belly, but it vanished before he could draw enough breath to cry out.
"What did you do?" he panted, his voice hoarse.
"I slowed the progression of the curse," she answered. "If nothing else, you have more time."
"Thank you."
She tilted her head, birdlike, as she regarded him. "I have no special knowledge of what this Eluned has done," she stated, "but I have a gift that might help you, great-grandson." She placed her hands on his temples, brow furrowing in concentration.
"What is—"
An invisible fist punched him in the chest, knocking all the air from his lungs in a startled gasp. His ears popped, his eyes burned. When he blinked the pain away, red blood beaded on his eyelashes.
"There," the queen said smugly. There was a book in her hands, though Merlin hadn't given it to her.
The warlock choked, "What did—you do?" The effort of forcing out those four words left him panting and lightheaded.
His great-grandmother chuckled. "You'll see." And she laughed again, like that was the cleverest joke in the world. "You'll see."
Spots swam through his vision. Merlin staggered backwards, afraid he'd faint and fall and drown. The Queen of the Sidhe took advantage of his disorientation. Her boat turned of its own accord, plunging beneath the water.
The Sidhe were gone.
Merlin sat down hard, head spinning. At least his eyes had stopped bleeding.
Another bloody riddle.
At least he had an inkling of what this one might mean.
Alternate chapter title: "In Which Riddles Continue to be Immensely Frustrating, Much to the Amusement of the Riddle-Givers"
Next update: July 16. Merlin adores his baby sister so much, Agravaine is tormented, and Gwen runs into a slight problem.
I've still got a bit of buffer. A fair chunk of it needs rewriting, but it shouldn't affect my snail-like update pace. This book is probably going to be 30 chapters, give or take.